Tag: snapchat

FFS this post is delayed. Though unintended I have taken 2.5 months to get this sucker out…As such, here’s a little #TBT for your Thursday afternoon….

It was an ordinary November afternoon when I received a Snapchat message from good ole’ Boston Boy (upgraded to Boston Babe), my super sweet fling from the summer who took me to baseball games and held my hand at the dinner table. It said: “Hey, do you know any good places to eat in downtown Toronto?” I laughed to myself, realizing that this was exactly how he’d started our very first tinder convo (yes, I have that good a memory). I was in the middle of a drrrry spell…one that actually started when B-Boy left Toronto back in August. Work was out of control busy, I was studying for a grad school entrance exam, and had a general apathy toward dating of any kind, so ya, I didn’t hesitate setting up our date.

We agreed to meet at his hotel and I showed up nervous and excited. After all, I hadn’t seen the guy in almost 3 months and couldn’t even remember if I thought he was cute. He ended up getting stuck at work so I decided to make the best of the situation and grabbed a glass of wine and a seat at the bar. I ended up chatting to the guy at the stool next to me (don’t get the wrong idea, he was well over 50) and had a pretty hilarious time. I felt a little like the star of my own version of “Pretty Woman”, trying to set up a client while waiting for another to arrive. The gentleman asked if I was staying in the hotel, to which I replied: “Nope just visiting a friend” just as Boston Babe showed up, looking way cuter than I remembered I may add. I struggled to find my credit card and pay for the drink only looking up when the bartender yelled “THAT WAS THE SMOOTHEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN”. Always considerate, my Boston Babe had subtly paid the tab and grabbed my stuff. All I could do was muster a quiet “thank you” and grab his hand before heading straight for the elevators.

The rest of the night was honestly amazing. We hooked up, ate pizza in bed, hot-tubbed, hooked up, watched a movie, slept, and again hooked up. It was as if we picked up right where we let off and quickly transitioned from ‘what’ve you been up to’ pleasantries to meaningful conversation. I left the next morning, after enjoying a complimentary hotel breakfast, feeling elated and excited to see him again. Oh! and I mustn’t forget that the gentleman from the bar the night before turned up again, this time sitting across from me as I ate toast and scrambled eggs, while I kept my blushing cheeks pointed to my plate.

Fast forward a few weeks and I am in a full-on ‘fling-lationship’. I dub this term to explain the otherwise uncategorically expressed phenomenon: I was 100% in a relationship for a very defined period of time. We texted, ate meals together, talked about our days, and spent a lot of time together. By the last week of his trip I had definitely grown attached, more than to just having someone in my life but to him as well. We went skating one night and as he held my hands and skated backwards, guiding us around the rink I couldn’t help but think: “Why does he have to leeeeaaaveeee”. I was so happy to continue doing what we were doing that I couldn’t help but feel slighted to have found someone I get along with so well when he happens to live in another country. A country with a president like Trump no less.

We had some very deep life chats over the course of a couple weeks, even getting into our pasts and relationship deal breakers which is something I rarely share with my male companions. I admitted mine is overemotional guys…ya, I’m pretty callous…hence my hesitance to share. It turned out I needn’t worry, as his exes always complained that he didn’t open up and was too emotionally reserved…Well no wonder we friggen got along so well! I don’t like to talk about feelings with the guy I’m dating and he doesn’t like to talk about feelings. period.

Well, while our mutual fear of intimacy made for a perfect fling, it also made it kind of hard to understand if the feelings I was developing were real. By the end of his trip my mind had turned into a broken record “Should I say how I feel? Could he feel the same way? Am I asking to be rejected by a guy who admittedly doesn’t open up??” I continued this one-woman game of ‘relationship chicken’, torn between taking a risk or letting this great guy just pass me by until it was suddenly our last night together and I still hadn’t said anything. You’d think I’d be capable of uttering a simple “Hey, I like you and I’d actually give this a shot…what do you think?”, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Despite my overwhelming cowardice we had a great night. Well, no…Let me clarify. I had a perfectly good night but he was clearly VERY off…to this day I don’t know what was wrong but he didn’t enjoy the physical part of our relationship in the same way he had throughout all the time we’d spent together prior. Maybe he was also playing relationship chicken and was more wrapped up in his thoughts than in my embrace? Maybe he had a rough day at work? Who knows. I

left the next morning knowing that it’d be the last time I saw him. Whether or not he felt the way I did one thing was clear: neither of us had the balls to turn this into anything real and without someone stepping up to the plate we’d go down in history as the greatest potential relationship never to reach the major leagues.

We had a great time together and while losing him stung a bit, I was over it after a couple days and quickly dove back into work, studying and not giving a fuck about dating. I won’t be the type of girl always at someone else’s beck and call, so if he ever came back to T.O., single or not, our fling-lationship would remain safely where it belongs: on my blog.

Disclaimer: I am writing this as a two-parter for those of you who frankly don’t care enough about my love life to subject yourself to this much reading. For those of you who do stay the course, I thank you and God help me. Part 2 here: The Fling’s the Thing

It all started about a week ago with a guy I’d been talking to on tinder. We agreed to meet up so he came over and we sat on my terrace drinking wine and chatting. When hunger struck we grabbed a bite, which he willingly paid for, before heading back to my place. We had a great connection, sharing a lot in common and I really enjoyed his company. It seemed only natural that he’d stay the night, which he did, but the next morning I couldn’t help feeling underwhelmed, in all departments if you catch my drift.

As a consultant in town from Boston, he seemed like the perfect candidate for a fun little fling, but if I wasn’t interested in what this fling could offer then what was the point? Despite the okay hookup we kept chatting on and off but I wasn’t sure if I would see him again.

Fast forward to Friday night while out with some people from work. We were having a great time and I was vibing with this guy who I’d always thought was cute. He’d had a girlfriend till about a week prior but was now single so….I’m sure you can see where this is going.

Well, however you think this story ends, you’re probably wrong.

Cut to the next morning after he’d gone home. I recounted the details of the night to Miranda who’d been out with us only to realize they were pretty friggen horrendous. I remembered feeling insulted and uncomfortable a number of times the night before but became increasingly bothered as I spoke the deets out loud… A highlight reel of my night with king of the douchelords:

We hook up and I immediately get a speech all about how I need to be aware that this was just a hook up, he’d just gotten out of a long term relationship and how I wasn’t to try trap him in something. Uhm excuse me sir? Could you be more patronizing??? You cleeearly know nothing about me because if you did you’d understand that I don’t want anything from you either. But ok, whatever, guys give this speech all the time (as I would soon find out) so I let it slide.

We continue to hook up and I kiss him – as normal people do – only to be asked why I had done that when we had just clarified that our hookup was strictly physical. This is when I started to say WTF. I am not a prostitute and will absolutely kiss you if you’re in my bed, its part of the package deal. I can separate kissing from emotions and if you can’t then that’s your problem, not mine…Douche.

And finally, the piece de resistance: he actually tried snapchatting a post-coital pic of me to his friends! And his response to my protests? “Don’t worry; your boobs don’t have to be in it”. WOW, really? Thanks so much, you’re such a great guy!!!

If you can believe it he still had the audacity after all that to tell me that we should keep this between the two of us. Yea, cuz snapchat is a very private and intimate realm…Sorry bud, no can do, this is 100% going on my blog.

I couldn’t believe the rudeness of his behaviour, but you must remember that I was drunk too and ended up making a (BIG) mistake. He slept over – I did ask why the F he’d wanted to given his many rules about what “just a hook up” means – and we ended up hooking up again at 6:30 in the morning. He immediately ducked out to get ready for a noon brunch and….I know, I KNOW! Not only does that reasoning REEK of bullshit but I definitely shouldn’t have hooked up with him again. Uch, I never claimed to be innocent in this story.

Anyway, those are the main points I’m actually willing to share about this experience but let it be known that this isn’t an exhaustive list of his douchebaggey behaviour. Obviously, I was really upset about it the next day, at him but even more so at myself for not having more self-respect. I was used but I had let myself be used and that was a tough pill to swallow.

I ended up moping around for the entire next day, feeling cheap and pretty disappointed in myself until sometime in the afternoon Charlotte mentioned she’d come to a male-related epiphany over a laffa wrap. Well, I couldn’t find any decent middle-eastern food, but I did find some peace after a long walk and a seriously emo playlist, and decided I would just chalk it up to a shitty experience that didn’t have to define me.

I’ll pause here, so if you’re only interested in hearing about one of the worst hook ups of my life then feel free to stop reading. But if you’ve been paying attention and are wondering what happened to Boston Boy I suggest reading on, because my next post is when I stop being a hoe and start getting real. The Real World – Toronto Edition.